


Your Heart is an Onion

by Cottonstones



Category: Community
Genre: F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-06
Updated: 2012-09-06
Packaged: 2017-11-13 16:27:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/505475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cottonstones/pseuds/Cottonstones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The very worst parts of Britta, the parts she presses down and covers up with good intention and a high social activism schedule, know that she really doesn't belong here.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Your Heart is an Onion

Shirley's ceiling is poorly-plastered white. Britta's been staring at it unblinkingly for close to three minutes. She's distracted and it's rude because she's not the type to be distracted in bed, but all she can think about is Todd. Well, no, she's also thinking about Jeff, gauging what he'd think of the situation at hand. But staring at the plastered white ceiling, she's thinking of Todd, can hear him calling the whole lot of them a toxic mess.

Britta feels warm hands curl around her ankles, softer than Jeff or Vaughn or Blade. "Pumpkin, are you with me?" Shirley asks in her sickeningly sweet way. Todd has never been more right than he is this moment. Even Shirley, who is the closest the study group comes to a person with their shit together (and she's really only gaining that title by the skin of her teeth) has her messy, awful, surprising side.

Like how she took off her jewelry before she slid a finger inside of Britta. Like how Jeff has done the same to both of them before. Britta gasps in surprise; she's still surprised. She's still wearing her bra because, for some reason, Shirley's mid-life 'experimentation phase' doesn't qualify her as ready to deal with Britta's tits. Shirley has kids, Shirley loves God, Shirley bakes a mean mini-pie, and, apparently, Shirley is top-notch at fingering. This can't be the first time she's done this, and the thrill of excitement passes through Britta at imagining that it was Jeff.

Jeff, on his hands and knees in this bed, with crosses on the wall, pictures of Shirley's boys face down on the nightstand. Shirley behind him, fingers damp from her mouth...or Jeff's, even. Her slim, skilled fingers working inside of him one at a time, not really giving him time to adjust because he would be completely unable to ask for that, even from Shirley.

But here and now, Britta is on her back and Shirley's shoulders have her legs spread wider than she's used to. When this whole thing had started, Britta had pictured herself doing the hand-holding, taking one for the team, essentially. Of course she'd carry the burden of teaching Shirley the proper way to finger a woman...not that Britta even has much experience. Her stomach tightens at the thought that she might be the one in the dark here, after all.

Shirley hasn't been talking. Her hair, loose and bouncy, wild, is brushing all over Britta's thighs and stomach. Shirley hums now, though, and Britta is going to ask if something is the matter, but she loses her voice when Shirley curiously touches the tip of her tongue to the heated flesh of Britta's cunt. Britta shivers and makes this noise that makes Shirley kind of giggle against Britta's clit. At this point, she's barely in control of her body when she's hooking her legs over Shirley's shoulders, drawing herself closer.

The very worst parts of Britta, the parts she presses down and covers up with good intention and a high social activism schedule, know that she really doesn't belong here. For all her clamoring about gay rights and being fine with being friends with (not to mention kissing) lesbians, she knows that she really doesn't belong here. All along, she thought she was the one who was being open-minded, the one who was leading, but Shirley, she's clearly in control here.

Two fingers open her up and Britta catches an internal glimpse of Jeff again, knees splayed, sweating. Shirley would be there, touching the back of his neck, cooing at him while she fucked him on three of her fingers. Then a little, stupid pang of jealousy worms into Britta's stomach. Why hadn't she tried that on Jeff? Probably because she was still figuring out how to even be around him, let alone how she should be fucking him. Sadly, the kinkiest the two of them got outside of public sex was Britta indulging Jeff's nipple kink without getting much in return besides bruises on her hips and beard burn on her thighs.

Shirley twists her fingers inside of Britta. She's wet, more than she thought she'd be, as bad as that sounds. Britta finds her hips twitching upwards, pressing into Shirley's hands and mouth. "Fuck, Shirley," Britta finds herself gasping.

The tongue nudging inch by inch into her is gone and Britta nearly sobs from the loss. "We don't swear in this house," Shirley says, _tsk_ ing at her. Britta presses a hand to her forehead. She can't swear, but she can let Shirley go down on her. Okay.

"Sorry," Britta says, breathing out, a little more out of it than she wanted to sound. She catches Shirley in the moment before she goes back down on Britta. She's all dark curves, wild hair, wet mouth; her tits bigger, fuller, prettier than Britta's. There's something in her eyes, too, something that scares Britta, but she also wants to see more. Maybe it was shitty of her to peg Shirley as a one-note person. There's clearly layers here, a lot going on, a lot that Britta wants to know. Even if it is mean, she already likes this Shirley a million times more than the one she knows from Greendale, and only half of that is because this Shirley is lowering her mouth back to Britta's pussy.

Shirley pulls her fingers from Britta and uses them, sticky, wet, to open Britta up. She leans back in, breath hot, and Britta is so sensitive that she's trembling. Honestly, in her adult life, she's had mostly lackluster orgasms (Jeff only sometimes included) and this heat that's rolling around in her belly is something she's missed, something maybe she never had in the first place. The thought scares her more than she'll admit.

Britta bites at her lips to keep from swearing. She's making strangled, aborted moans in her throat that sound far from sexy, but Shirley doesn't back down. Her eyes are locked on the ceiling. Shirley's tongue is firm, wet, perfect inside of her, licking long lines, experienced motions. Britta is shaking before she realizes how close she is.

She's almost afraid to come because, for one, this wonderful, burning feeling will be gone, and for two, what if Shirley expects the same outcome for herself? What if Britta can't deliver? The only cunt she's touched is her own and even that's hit and miss for her.

Shirley nudges her tongue against Britta's clit, teasing, too slow in contrast to the quick strokes from her tongue moments earlier. Britta breaks and lets out a long, torturous moan that she swears makes Shirley laugh. Then the tip of Shirley's tongue is flicking against Britta's clit, again and again, and it's maddening but amazing. Britta can't stop herself from letting her hands go down to Shirley's head, fingertips brushing her face. Normally, she'd be hands-deep in hair, but Shirley has a rule about that, so she can't touch as much as she finds herself wanting to. She's happy that she wants to. Maybe she isn't as awful as she thought.

Shirley is insistent and Britta is there, right there, seconds from tipping over the edge; all she needs is a little something, just a little more. Shirley, as if she can read Britta's mind, chooses this moment to slide two fingers back inside of her, deep and slick and fast, and that's it, Britta is gone, hips jerking. She has the sense to slap her own hand over her mouth as she cries out. Her body twists up for Shirley, on edge. Shirley licks her through it, keeps her going, twitching, burning up.

When all is said and done, Shirley wipes her sticky fingers off onto her clean sheets and Britta stares at the ceiling again, lost in post-orgasmic bliss and an edging sense of worry that she won't be able to return the favor. Shirley finds her way up to the bed.

"Britta?" Shirley says her name in the way that only she can. It kind of helps to snap the two Shirleys that Britta knows back into place. She turns her head to look at Shirley, smiling wearily. She's used to falling asleep directly after coming.

"Yeah?"

"You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," Shirley says, this time with her normal voice, rough, deep, making Britta shiver.

Britta sits herself up on her elbows. "Shirley, you know I wouldn't even be here if I wasn't comfortable with this. I have gay friends, after all! You know that I'm not, like, a homophobe, right?"

Shirley's brow crinkles, but she nods. "I know that, sweetie."

"Okay," Britta says with a nod as she settles back into bed next to Shirley. "As long as we're clear on that."


End file.
